Take My Hand
by strangertoromance
Summary: What happened between the Carsons' wedding reception at the schoolhouse and their arrival back from honeymoon? This is what I imagined.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the first fic I've ever published - be kind!_

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The day so far existed only as a jumble of sensations, the rest a muddled, distant blur between them. The steady rhythm of someone else fastening her stays for the first time in decades as Anna helped her dress; the warmth of his fingers as he took her hand to slide on the ring; the loving, surprising pressure of his lips on hers as the sun's glow touched her face outside the church; the fondness of his gaze - which she could feel in her body, even though he wasn't actually touching her - as the Earl and Countess congratulated them on their way into the schoolhouse; the devotion that radiated from him during his toast. She knew, especially after the to-do with Mrs Patmore, how he felt. She just never thought he would express it so openly, and surely not in front of other people.

Now his hand was hovering at the small of her back as she said goodbye to Miss Baxter and Mr Moseley, then it was grasping hers as he helped her into the waiting car, hired specially to take them the first part of their journey as a wedded couple. She accepted his assistance, at the same time thinking how unnecessary it was - she'd been getting in and out of things unassisted for a long time now - but he seemed unable to stop himself. That thought made her feel warm in a completely different way than she had when his ungloved palm had pushed the drape of her coat flush against her spine. She shuffled across the seat to make room for him, but before she could get all the way to the opposite window, he was in the car with her, settling himself back against the seat and reaching for her hand again to prevent her getting too far away from him.

She acquiesced to the unspoken request in his grasp and let the fabric of her dress slide against his thigh as she moved to rest back against the seat. For a second, she was completely absorbed in his movements, as he brought their joined hands to rest in his lap and covered hers with another great paw as if to keep it safe. She felt a lump begin in her throat, and looked up at his face. In doing so, she caught sight through the window of all their guests assembled outside the schoolhouse to wave them off, and she was suddenly aware of the world beyond his touch again. He was looking out of the car window away from her, nodding his farewells to Lady Mary and his lordship. She raised her free hand in response to Mrs Patmore's fluttering handkerchief, and then the driver released the brake and the car set off down the road, away from the village.

He was still looking out of the window, and she suddenly felt uneasy. What time was it? Would they catch their train? Perhaps it had been madness to try and get to their little hotel in Scarborough the same day as the service - a whim borne out of a wild romantic notion of wanting the honeymoon to start as soon as they left the wedding breakfast, rather than the more practical and prosaic idea of staying at the house or their new cottage for the first night, then sedately setting out on their trip the following morning. It had been selfish of her to want this, to want his attention only on her from the moment the festivities had concluded. She had been convinced that if they had stayed in their everyday surroundings for one more night, the shiny thrill of their new roles would have been tarnished by the familiarity of the routine, the people. But this way, she fretted, they would miss their train and either have to waste money on an inn in York or drive back to the house and spend a humiliatingly unplanned evening in their usual places anyway.

Her worries were interrupted by one of his hands releasing hers and digging in his waistcoat pocket for his watch. He flicked it open and spoke for the first time since they had left the schoolhouse. "There's plenty of time until our train," he said, keeping his voice gentle and quiet so it was clear that his words were only for her, not the driver. "In fact, we'll have to stand about on the platform for a few minutes." She leaned her shoulder against his in gratitude. He had read her silent concerns on her face, and with his customary professional anticipation, had skipped straight to providing her with the reassurance she needed, rather than bothering with any "tell me what troubles you, my dear" rigmarole. (In her head, he already called her "my dear", although apart from during the service he still had yet to utter her first name, let alone any sort of endearment.)

She let out a soft sigh. In the months since his proposal and her eventual acceptance of his apparent desire for her, they had probably touched fewer times in total than they had in the past couple of hours. Contemplating whether she dared lay her cheek against his shoulder as well as letting her arm press up against his, she wondered why she had been so afraid of being close to him. After so many decades of untouched independence, it was surprising and a bit disconcerting to have so much contact with anyone else. But it was also extremely pleasant to choose to give that enforced loneliness up, and she found herself wondering what it would feel like if he wasn't wearing his jacket, and there was only the thin fabric of his shirt between her and his skin. He put his watch back in his pocket and returned his hand to rest atop hers. Feeling emboldened by this, she gently tilted her head - careful not to let her hat catch him - and rested her cheek on his shoulder. He hummed ever so slightly, and tightened his grip on her hand, which she took to mean that he didn't mind her new posture.

The chauffeur glanced briefly in the mirror, and saw the newlywed couple sitting over to one side of the backseat, pressed up against each other, her head on his shoulder and their hands clasped tightly in his lap. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling, while her new husband was looking fixedly ahead, as if terrified that the merest glance in her direction would fright her and send her sliding over to the other side of the car. Tightening his grip on the wheel, the driver chuckled inwardly and stepped slightly more firmly on the pedal, speeding them along the road to York.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for all your kind comments and words of encouragement. I haven't been able to see them properly or reply much thanks to this site eating all the reviews, so if you prefer you can talk to me on tumblr (my username is the same there)._

 _We're still in the car on the way from the reception here - this is a very slow-moving story, just to warn you. Also, I should have said before: I'm trying to alternate between points of view, so this chapter is mostly through Charles' eyes._

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They hadn't spoken a word since he had reassured her about the time just after they left the schoolhouse. The only sounds now were the engine, the wheels on the road, and the occasional clunk of the mechanism as the driver changed gear. Her eyes were closed as she rested against his shoulder, so he thought she must have dozed off - presumably she hadn't slept very much the previous night, either. His thoughts returned briefly to those sleepless hours, his last spent in the single bed he had occupied for so many years, and to how anxious he had been about the day to come. What if she didn't turn up at the church? What if she came, but told him she would only take part in the service if they could have that brother-and-sister arrangement after all? What if she wanted them to carry on living at the abbey, occasionally holding hands in his pantry and still occupying their separate rooms?

She shifted in her sleep, nuzzling her cheek ever so slightly against his jacket. Her movement pulled him out of his nervous reverie. He turned his head a little and looked down at her, her face partly shaded by the brim of her hat, her hand clasped between his. None of his "what ifs" had come to pass, and now his wife was resting comfortably against him as they took their first journey together. In a way, he was grateful that she was asleep - he could do with the chance to gather himself.

The longing to reveal himself to her, to tell her everything that occupied his mind and heart, had escalated in these past few weeks leading up to the wedding, and it would hardly do to have all of that burst forth until he was sure she wanted to hear it. He thought he was lost at the schoolhouse, when what he had intended to be a brief word of thanks to the family and their colleagues for helping to organise the event had become words of utter devotion to her. The glance he had snuck at her face over the rim of his glass, just before Mr Branson's miraculous arrival, had revealed her to be shocked at his daring, but shyly pleased with his sentiment, he thought. That had only spurred him on, though, and now he was concerned that even the most banal of exchanges would become passionate declarations. Much better that she took her rest while he endeavoured to get a grip on himself, especially since they wouldn't be alone for at least a few hours yet.

The thought of being alone with her didn't help to calm him. At all. Reflexively, he turned his head the other way, as if to escape the thought, and saw out of the car window that they were no longer on country lanes, but were weaving their way through the traffic in York, aiming for the station. He met the driver's eyes in the mirror, and the fellow said (very quietly, clearly not wishing to disturb her) that they were almost there - five minutes at the most.

He should wake her. She would be flustered if he let her sleep until the jerk of the car coming to a stop outside the station broke her slumber. But how? The option that leapt into his mind first - pushing the brim of her hat back and kissing her firmly on the lips until she surfaced - would probably make her more flustered, not less. He cast that thought away. He could poke her in the ribs, although that was probably both a bit childish and would also bring his hand into the vicinity of things he shouldn't even be thinking about while they were in a car with one stranger and about to get on a train with plenty more. He inwardly shook himself. They were almost there now, just passing the station hotel. He panicked, and allowed his instincts to take over. He shifted his body slightly to turn towards her, brought his hand up to her face and very lightly touched her cheek with the back of his hand. She began to stir, and he whispered in her ear, "Elsie, love, wake up. We're nearly at the station."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him with eyes blurred with sleep. His hand was still on her cheek. She smiled. "You've never called me that before," she murmured. "Either of those things, in fact."

He felt himself redden. He snatched his hand away from her face. "I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he muttered, still mindful of the driver, who to his trained servant's eye had very much the look of a man who had made himself deliberately deaf to everything that was taking place in the back of his car. He looked ahead again, just as the car swung round to fetch up in front of the station. There was a grinding and clicking as the brake was engaged and the driver got out and walked round the front of the car to open the door for her to exit.

Already tensed in anticipation of movement, turned to face the car door, he was startled to feel the softness of her gloved fingers on his neck, just below his jaw. Her thumb ever so lightly touched his bottom lip. He looked back to see that her eyes were shining and that she was biting her own bottom lip in a way that made his stomach clench and his ears ring. Somehow, through that, he heard her whisper, "Charles… I liked it", before the driver wrenched open the door next to her, and the warm pressure of her was gone from his side as she climbed out onto the pavement in front of the station. Mind reeling, he scrambled to follow her, flashing the baffled driver a huge grin as he emerged from the car.


	3. Chapter 3

_Finally, I get to see the reviews, and I can't tell you how grateful I am for your support and enthusiasm. In an attempt to make sure I keep on with this, I'm going to try and stick to a chapter every Sunday night (as a minimum). On we go, with Elsie's point of view._

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Although it meant doing without his immediate presence, she felt relieved that he had taken their luggage into the station with the porter to get it loaded onto the train in plenty of time. After being awakened in the car by his gentle nudging of her cheek and the whisper - his first, the very first - of her name in her ear, she had been very near to giving into the feeling she had been holding in check all day and pressing kisses all over his face. Remembering the presence of the driver and her own doubts about whether her new husband would take kindly to such a display, she had limited herself to just touching, oh so lightly, his bottom lip and murmuring his name in return.

As he had bustled off with the porter and their cases, he had looked back at her over his shoulder and said something about her taking care of the car, which she had taken to mean she was to dismiss and tip the driver. But what was preoccupying her now as she stood on the pavement outside the station was the syllable that had preceded this instruction - she _thought_ he had prefaced the remark with "Els", but that couldn't possibly be right, could it? No one had called her that since she left the farm and there was no longer any need for her name to be shortened to a single sound that could be bawled up the glen at milking time. And he had only dared to utter her first name just now in the car anyway. He couldn't have alighted on an abbreviation for her already. She must have misheard him.

She was jolted out of this consideration by a polite cough from the driver, who was still standing next to his vehicle awaiting her attention. She stepped over to him, digging around in her bag for a shilling.

"Thank you very much for getting us here so swiftly," she said, putting it in his palm and looking him in the eye. She smiled. "Given that I was able to sleep most of the way, you must be a very skilled driver."

"Thank you very much, missus," he said, acknowledging the coin with a dip of his head before slipping it into his pocket. "You have a safe trip now, and if you'll permit me to say - there's not many a fella like yours. He stares at you like he's worried you'll disappear in a puff of air if he dares to look away." He must have seen her face change, because he added hurriedly: "I meant no offence, really - it's just I drive a lot of folk and I… Well, I've not seen many like you two."

She patted him reassuringly on the arm, this flustered young man with the tips of his ears turning red under his cap, so like all of the others she had comforted down the years. "I know you didn't, lad. You drive safely, now." With a final squeeze of his arm and a smile she stepped away from the car and turned back towards the station building, just in time to see her husband - that word, it felt odd and thrilling and a bit improper even to think it in her head - coming back out through the entrance in search of her. His face lit up as he saw her, and she chuckled involuntarily, catching a glimpse for the first time of what the driver had been trying to describe.

"What's so funny?" he asked as he escorted her in, past the ticket office and the waiting room and out onto the platform where the engine was belching steam and porters were weaving in and out of heaps of luggage.

She tucked her arm through his, partly just because she wanted to touch him again, and partly to make him shorten his stride to match hers. "Oh nothing, just something the driver said." He waggled an eyebrow at her, and she answered his unspoken question instinctively. "He said he'd not seen many couples like us, and that you were looking at me like I might vanish any second." They were nearly past the third class coaches now, and she expected him to stop and usher her up into one any moment, but he didn't. He chuckled just a little to himself, and brought his other hand up to squeeze hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow.

Finally, he halted outside the open door to a second class compartment. "That lad is far too observant for his own good," he commented as he took her hand to help her up into the train. "He'll get into all sorts of trouble that way." Poised on the little step, she turned her head to look down at him. "And is he right?" she asked, in that teasing tone she reserved just for him, and then stepped into the corridor next to their compartment. She felt his solid bulk behind her and the rumble of his laugh as he answered in an undertone: "Well, let's just say I seem to require constant reminders that you are really here _with me_ and this isn't the nicest dream I've ever had in my life."

He was still holding her fingers from helping her up into the train, and he tugged on them now to get her to pause and turn back to him. They were wedged in the narrow little corridor, with people bustling on the platform and further along the train, finding their seats. As she turned, she met his gaze, and he was looking at her as he had that night when she had babbled about Oliver Cromwell and her not pleasing him and him being sure. His eyes never left hers, that dark gaze glowing at her even though the corridor was in shadow, as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, then turned it over and kissed her palm. Finally, his eyes glinting at her still, he nudged the sleeve of her coat up a little with his thumb and pressed his lips to her bare wrist, between her glove and her cuff. "See?" he breathed. "I have to check."

She shivered, lost to everything until she felt his hand on her back again, guiding her into their empty compartment.


	4. Chapter 4

_Another Sunday, another instalment. Bit longer this time, because I got quite preoccupied by… train tickets. I know I said we were going to be alternating points of view, but it seemed more important to have Elsie's thoughts for this, so we've had two in a row from her. More Charles soon, I promise. Thank you as ever for your kind words and reviews - do let me know what you think about the direction this is taking!_

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The second class compartment that he had showed her into was empty. She hovered in the middle of the six seats, waiting for him to tell her which were theirs, secretly hoping she would be able to sit in the corner seat by the window, looking the way they would be travelling, so she would be the first to catch sight of the sea. But the corner seats were always the first to be booked (since they meant that only one side of you had to be pressed up against a stranger for the duration of the journey) and most likely they would be squashed somewhere in the middle.

He was close behind her, pulling the door across and latching it, then turning to stand next to her. He was moving his hands about as he always did when he felt guilty or flustered - tugging on his jacket, then putting his hands behind his back, then clasping them in front of him, never still. She turned to him and reached out to grasp one of his hands in hers. He looked up, startled out of his disquiet by her touch.

"Have you got the tickets? Which are our seats? Are you sure we're supposed to be in second class?" Elsie heard the tremor and the tension in her own voice as she asked him. She longed for the easy comfort she had always felt when alone with him before, in his pantry or her sitting room, late at night. Now, everything between them was different, to be relearned, discovered anew, and she was nervous.

He let his hand slip from under hers and reached inside his jacket for the envelope containing the tickets. Wordlessly, he handed it to her without opening it. She looked from his hand to his face, and saw that he was nervous too, for some reason apprehensive about how she was going to react. What on earth had the daft man done now? What mischief could he get up to with something as mundane as train tickets?

Feeling somewhat exasperated now at his continued silence, she tried to open the envelope but found the paper slipped between the smoothness of her gloved fingers. Piqued enough now to risk a little impropriety, she abandoned ceremony and dragged off her one glove and flung it carelessly down on one of the seats.

Finally ripping open the envelope, she realised that it was too thick, too full just to contain a couple of train tickets to Scarborough and back. She reached inside and pulled out a veritable wad of paper. There were tickets, yes, half a dozen of them, wrapped in a note addressed to "Mrs Carson". She pulled this off and thrust it at him, more interested in why they had three times as many tickets as they needed than who was writing to her now. He took it from her and held it without unfolding it, his gaze fixed on her face.

"Mr Carson, what on earth is going on?" She finally gave voice to her confusion. "Whose idea was this? I thought it was just us travelling, but there are six return tickets here - the whole compartment is booked." She couldn't help it, her voice shook a little as she got to the end. She had so wanted for it just to be them, for them to have this time completely alone to learn how to be them, away from everyone else who otherwise filled their every waking moment.

He heard her distress, and his face - so hopeful, so wanting her to be happily surprised - collapsed. He stepped into her and put his hand on her arm. "Oh no, no - it isn't what you think. I've gone about this all wrong. She…" He tailed off and began flapping his free hand about again. She finally caught on.

"It was her idea, wasn't it? To book the whole compartment both ways?"

"Yes." There was something slightly grudging, mocking in his tone, but he tightened his grip on her arm as he heard the bustle on the platform, the train nearing readiness to pull out of the station. "The one you call 'the blessed Lady Mary'. She found me at the station last week, when I was trying to buy two third class returns from York to Scarborough. And well, you know…"

She laughed now, her heart thrilling to see how the cheer instantly returned to his face as she did so. "And she overruled you, didn't she, like she always does? Insisted on buying us a whole compartment in second class?"

"Mmmm. She said she explained it all in the note." He waved the piece of paper at her, and now she looked at it properly, she couldn't understand how she'd been able to miss Lady Mary's distinctive script curling around her new name. She was just reaching for it when the train jolted away from the platform, and she staggered and lost her balance.

Immediately, Charles slid his hand from her arm and had her waist encompassed in the crook of his elbow. With her pressed close against him, he leaned down and murmured, "Steady, Els. I've got you."

There it was again. That name for her that nobody had uttered for forty years at least. She relaxed against him, becoming accustomed to the motion of the train as it sped up and even more determined to interrogate him about his new way of referring to her before too much longer. She reached one hand between them, and took Lady Mary's note from his grasp, before patting his chest and looking up at him. "Thank you. Shall we take our pick of all these seats, then?"

He loosened his hold on her, and she turned to plump herself down in the corner seat she had been eyeing earlier. She expected him to take the one opposite her, but yet again he surprised her by picking up her glove and taking its place in the seat next to her. He laid the glove across his knee and stroked the soft material. "These are beautiful," he said.

She had dropped the note and the envelope with all the tickets on the little table under the window, and at his words she paused in the act of removing her other glove. He was reaching for her other hand. "May I?" he said, flicking his eyes up to hers. She breathed her assent at him, unsure exactly what he was asking.

He took her hand between both of his and stroked it, before gently sliding his fingers inside to her wrist and drawing the glove slowly down and off her hand. Her wedding band caught the light slanting into the compartment now as the train dashed onward, and she was reminded of the moment in the church, not three hours ago, when he had taken her hand in his like this and slipped that ring onto her finger. She caught his eye, and there was that look again. Just like in the corridor, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his lips lingering on her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

The moment seemed to stretch and lengthen, and she had no idea how long she had sat there trembling, the train racing now, her hand against his mouth, staring into his eyes. But then there was a click and the conductor was sliding open the door of their compartment - all theirs! what foolish luxury! - to check their tickets. She snatched her hand out of Charles' grasp and grabbed the tickets. The conductor looked slightly baffled by the whole fistful she handed him, but he dutifully clipped all six, returned them to her and then departed, sliding the door back across.

She risked a glance at her husband's face again. He was looking slightly dazed still, both of her gloves held tightly in his fist. For her part, she was now madly curious to know what his sainted Lady Mary had written in this note. She picked it up off the table and unfolded it. Coming out of his daydream and seeing what she was doing, he suddenly became very absorbed in examining the stitching of her gloves. She chuckled to herself - of course, Charles would never try and read a note addressed to someone else, even if it was to his own wife. Glancing down, she read:

 _Dear Mrs Carson,_

 _As your husband has probably told you by now, I found him at the village station a few days ago, making the arrangements for your trip to Scarborough. I asked about your plans, and he told me of your desire to get straight away from Downton after the wedding. As he explained, I was reminded so strongly of how I felt after my own wedding, that I wanted Mr Crawley all to myself straight away, and that just for a while we should be able to think only about each other, and not be the people the family or the estate demanded that we be._

 _I know you and I have not always been completely aligned in our ideas about weddings, but we are, it seems, in perfect agreement about honeymoons. As such, I have taken the liberty of purchasing you a little piece of that solitude with which to begin your marriage. I hope you and Carson find it to your liking._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Lady Mary Crawley_

She was an uppity minx all right, Lady Mary - but as she had always suspected, Mr Crawley had brought out the best in her. Even amid all the dizzy happiness of this, her own wedding day, she felt a pang for Lady Mary and the husband she had lost too soon.

Folding the note again and putting it in her bag for Charles to read later, she looked over at him again, apparently still so very interested in her gloves. Impulsively, she leaned across and kissed him softly on the cheek. Yes, she thought, as she drew back and took in his shocked, delighted expression, I shall tell Lady Mary that this is very much to my liking.


End file.
